


forget-me-not and take courage, he who is duty-bound

by AlexaRouge



Category: Haikyuu!!, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Amnesia, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Established Relationship, Fluff, Knight Miya Atsumu, Multi, Not Beta Read, Prince Sakusa Kiyoomi, Slow Burn, atsumu is link, atsumu rediscovers his accent lol, everyone else is [gestures vaguely], follows the events of botw but different characters change things a bit, hastily structured au, i said established relationship but...technically, kiyoomi is princess zelda, people have died
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:13:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27250999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexaRouge/pseuds/AlexaRouge
Summary: Atsumu wakes up in what he will eventually learn from Motoya is the Shrine of Resurrection, his memories barren but his body marked with scars of forgotten stories. He wakes up to a barely familiar voice, stringent and irritable yet comforting in a way he hopes he’ll eventually be able to explain. He wakes up for a destiny he isn’t sure he can fulfill.Atsumu had. . . a family? He also had friends.Fellow champions,his mind whispers. Someone else who shared his face. Two-toned. . .feathers? A rock-hard reprimanding pat on the back. Sharp narrow eyes, and even sharper teeth. Cool yet caring glances given behind a smart pair of glasses. Their names slip through his fingers and haunt him in his nightmares.Atsumu served – serves – a prince. He knows he serves him out of obligation and duty, a mishmash of guilt and the sort of courage found in good people and vessels of the hero’s spirit. He knows he served him to the best of his ability yet ultimately failed him and the kingdom. What he doesn’t know yet is that he served him out of love as well.(or: BOTW told in vignettes but I shove SakuAtsu down its throat.)
Relationships: Kita Shinsuke & Miya Atsumu, Komori Motoya & Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu & Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Atsumu & Suna Rintarou, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou, Sakusa Kiyoomi & Shimizu Kiyoko
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	1. waking up

**Author's Note:**

> Ironically enough I haven't actually finished the game (collecting all of Hestu's korok seeds takes time, and I'm slow), but this idea has been stewing (among others) for quite a while. I love botw and I love sakuatsu, so it would be interesting to place the haikyuu character dyamic into the zelda world. I've got a short outline, starting with this small prologue, and I'll try to update it as frequently as I can. (No absolute promises though, haha)
> 
> Like all other fic, this is largely self-indulgent, but thank you for stopping by! Pretty excited to see how this goes, as it's only my second time posting in ao3.

_“-up.”_

_“-ake up.”_

_“Oi, wake up._ ”

The first thing the boy feels when his eyes blink open is cool liquid receding from his almost entirely naked body. The second is confusion. He bolts right up and promptly trips himself over the strange bed (?) he was just in, landing on his face. He grumbles and picks himself up but pauses when he hears a soft snicker. When he looks around blindly for the source, it stops.

The boy opens his mouth to talk, before snapping it shut in surprise when all he manages to produce is a wispy squeak. He places a hand on his throat and tries again.

“He- Hello? Who’s. . . there?” he asks hoarsely. When no reply comes, he asks again. And again.

He is about to give up when he barely catches a soft and somewhat hesitant, _“. . . Hello, Atsumu.”_

Atsumu? Is that his name? He mouths it slowly. A – tsu – mu. Atsumu. _Atsumu._

The voice returns with a snort, and this time it isn’t as soft. _“Yes, that’s your name, dumbass. Now, quick. Turn around.”_

Atsumu glares at the insult but turns anyway. His eyes catch a glowing pedestal a few meters from him and he walks over in curiosity. There seems to be something embedded in its center. . . Unable to help himself, he touches the dais. Immediately the embedded object springs out with a loud click, making the boy scramble backwards in surprise. After making sure it won’t fly out and attack him, he edges closer to inspect the rectangular object.

A lone blue eye glows and cries a single tear. A faint sense of familiarity nudges at the back of his mind.

 _“That’s the Sheikah Slate,”_ says the voice. Atsumu thinks it sounds tired. _“Take it.”_

He regards the ceiling skeptically.

 _“It won’t hurt you, idiot,”_ the voice chides. If Atsumu wasn’t so confused, he would have found the voice to be strangely fond. _“You’ll need it once you get out of here.”_

And where is _‘here’_ , exactly? Why was he sleeping in that chamber, and for how long was he out? How does the voice know his name, anyway? And - he glances down at his chest - why does he have all these scars? (Actually, no. Atsumu isn't sure he wants that specific question answered.) All these thoughts swirl around his mind as he picks up the slate and watches its screen light up briefly before going dark. Was it. . . supposed to do that? He startles when the stone in front of him slides away to reveal a path he must presumably follow to get out of this strange, discomforting place.

Except he doesn't. Not yet. Atsumu takes a step back. Maybe it was the eerie darkness of what lay ahead, or his own disoriented state of mind, but whatever it is causes him to freeze in place. The shadows cast by the faint glow of the room loom over him ominously.

Is this what fear feels like?

_"Atsumu."_

That's my name.

_"It'll be okay, Atsumu."_

It will?

_"Nothing in that room will harm you, idiot. I'm here."_

Okay. 

Slightly embarrassed by the fact that he was just comforted by a disembodied voice, Atsumu slowly enters the room. It glows faintly with the same markings as the one he woke up in, providing enough light for him to spot what seems to be a couple of deliberately placed chests. He opens them and finds himself some rather ill-fitting clothes to wear: threadbare trousers and a thin shirt threatening to pull apart at the seams. He blanches at his options and considers the merit of walking around bare instead.

 _“Don’t you dare,”_ says the voice once more in stern disapproval.

“Why.” He takes a moment to clear his throat and resumes, “not?”

The voice scoffs. _“You’ll get cold, and it’s highly unsanitary.”_

Atsumu wants to point out that wearing moldy however-old clothes isn’t any less unsanitary either, but he bites his tongue. He doesn’t want to pick a fight with his only companion, after all. Even if it’s just a voice.

(The clothes are surprisingly comfortable.)

He ventures further in but comes across another deadlock. Another glowing pedestal presents itself yet he finds himself at a loss when he finds no embedded object. How is he supposed to. . .?

 _“Hold the slate up to the pedestal,”_ the voice instructs.

Atsumu’s kind of tired referring to his companion as the “voice”, so he ignores the directions and instead asks quietly, “What do I . . .call you?”

The voice sighs. _“That’s not important right now. Just do as I say.”_

Atsumu frowns. Not important? Still, he complies, and the stone wall parts for him almost instantly. The light is a little too bright, and he has to let his eyes adjust – but despite the enticing concept of freedom, he hangs back, unsure of himself.

"Who. . . am I?" he asks. 

The voice doesn't reply immediately, and he's starting to think it never will before it suddenly answers, _"You are the light , Atsumu. Our light. And you must shine upon this kingdom once again."_

Atsumu sputters. "What does that - what does that even mean?" he demands. It is the clearest he’s ever spoken as far as he can remember – and that’s 20 minutes ago.

 _"You'll know soon,"_ says the voice not unkindly. It even sounds somewhat apologetic. _"Now, head outside."_

And wasn't that comforting. Atsumu takes a tentative step forward, and feels the grass under his bare feet. The sensation shouldn't be all that strangely fascinating, but he repeats it again, and again, until he's running towards the edge of what he now knows is a cliff overlooking the world below him.

Atsumu struggles to take it all in. The view is breathtakingly beautiful, wild and incredibly vast. Forests dot the land and mountains run along the horizon. A volcano looms in the distance, and to the west of it stands a strange. . . castle (Atsumu gets this sort of foreboding feeling he finds he does not like.) He moves his sight to the split peaks protruding far in the east and the ocean beyond.

The world below is stunning, but it only makes him hyperaware of the fact that he is alone.

“I still don’t know your name,” Atsumu breathes to no one. Someone? Whatever. 

When he spots a figure watching him down along the slope, standing in front of what seems to be a ruined temple, he doesn’t think. He runs once more, and in his haste to reach them he almost doesn’t catch the voice replying faintly:

_“. . .You used to call me Sakusa.”_


	2. foundations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atsumu meets Motoya, and runs around the Great Plateau. Words are to be said.

Atsumu’s first meeting with what he would soon recognize as a fellow Hylian goes like this:

He finds the cloaked figure tending to a small campfire, resting underneath the shade of a rocky outcrop. Their face is hard to make out under their hood, and beside them lies a lantern-topped staff. Atsumu, being who he thinks he probably is, disregards the slightly intimidating look their shadowed silhouette casts and walks up to them with a determination that dies out the moment he actually reaches them.

“Er,” Atsumu begins awkwardly. The stranger only regards him silently, and minutes of uncomfortable staring pass. “I’m Atsumu.”

_“Smooth,”_ Sakusa can’t help but interject weakly.

Atsumu soldiers on and points to the cliffside he just came from. “I – this might sound crazy, but I just woke up in that cave over there?” The stranger shifts, and Atsumu rushes to continue. “And then I saw you! And got excited. So I was – “

_“You,”_ the stranger interrupts in a grating baritone. Atsumu snaps his mouth shut in surprise.

“Me?” he (most definitely not) squeaks, before falling on his butt as a staff almost catches him in the face, the lantern swinging mere centimeters away from the tip of his nose.

The stranger nods gravely in their seat, a lone eye peering down at Atsumu. _“You,”_ they speak. “ _You, who has fallen and revived. . .!”_

Atsumu gulps and slowly stands back up, wide eyes trained on the staff as it follows his movement. “Uh. Sorry for disturbing you,” he stammers out. “I’m just going to _go_ – “

_“STAY!”_ the stranger bellows. Atsumu jumps and – and almost curses out loud, _holy shit_ , is the ground shaking?! Is this how he was going to die? But he hasn’t even –

_“If you don’t heed my warning, grave consequences will come upon you,”_ they intone gravely. _“Stay, or else. . .”_

Atsumu takes a minute step back. He scans the surrounding area for anything he can use in case this person decides to kill him right then and there. His eyes zero in on a large woodcutter’s axe, right behind his (probable) assailant. This train of thought halts as realizes he has absolutely _no_ idea how to wield an axe, much less escape the stranger’s reach. Maybe if he can roll, or rush to the side –

_“. . .Or else you’ll go hungry,”_ the stranger concludes amiably, retracting their staff from Atsumu’s face.

Atsumu stares in bewilderment.

“Pfft!” High-pitched laughter breaks the tense atmosphere, and the stranger hunches over their staff in laughter. “You should have seen your face!” they giggle.

“Wh-what?” Atsumu stutters.

The stranger sighs contentedly and stands up straight, letting the hood fall back to reveal light brown hair and thick round eyebrows. A sharp pair of eyes twinkle at him, youthful and unrepentant.

“Sorry, sorry,” the stranger says between chuckles as he sits back down. “Couldn’t resist pulling your leg, you just looked so lost!”

A dog, Atsumu thinks dazedly, still staring at the man. He’s been played by someone who looks like a dog.

Said dog puts down his staff and beckons Atsumu to sit down across him. Atsumu obliges – slowly. “It’s rather unusual to see someone else around here,” Dog says conversationally as he tends to the fire. “You said you woke up in the shrine?”

Before Atsumu could reply, Sakusa makes a sort of strangled noise in the back of his mind. It’s faint, but Atsumu catches the name.

Motoya?

“Yes?” Oh. “That’s my name – Komori Motoya. How’d you know that?” The newly dubbed Motoya looks at Atsumu strangely.

“Er, lucky guess?” Atsumu tries, and winces at how unbelievable it sounds. It’s not like he can say, _Sorry, there’s this voice in my head, and it knows who you are?_

His stomach grumbles before he can say anything more, and Motoya throws his head back and laughs heartily. . . for some reason. Atsumu’s beginning to wonder how he could have ever mistaken this man as frightening when he laughs this much.

“Well, never mind that. You’re in luck, I just finished cooking!” Motoya gestures to the baked apples laid neatly by the fire. “Feel free to eat with me, and we’ll talk.”

-

Baked apples, Atsumu finds, are the _best_ thing to eat after being asleep for however-long he was out. He tells this to Motoya immediately (leaving out the details about his slumber) and takes a larger bite, then another.

Motoya only smiles and tilts his head in mock(?) polite confusion. “It sounds like this is your first time eating an apple.”

Atsumu flushes, hand hovering momentarily over another apple. “No!” he stutters. Motoya raises an eyebrow. “I mean! I don’t think – it’s just that good? It’s real good,” he amends.

“Ha, it better be!” Motoya barks. “I’m no chef, but I can make a decent treat or two for bright-eyed young men like yourself.” He pauses and shoots him a good-natured wink. “Ah, culinary-wise, that is.”

Atsumu laughs nervously. “Yeah,” he says lamely. “Um, so I know I guessed your name, but who are you, really?”

“I could be asking you the same thing, my strange, shrine-awoken friend.” Motoya leans forward and meets his gaze head-on. “Why are you lost?”

Atsumu coughs and breaks eye-contact. He couldn’t really answer that question. “Where are we?”

Motoya huffs in amusement at the blatant avoidance. “This is the Great Plateau. Legend has it that this is the birthplace of the entire kingdom of Hyrule. You’ve just come from that Shrine of Resurrection over there, stranger.”

Atsumu feels the frustration bubbling up again. None of these places seem familiar. Great Plateau? Hyrule? And more importantly. . . “Shrine of Resurrection?” he parrots.

“Indeed, or so I’ve heard. I never even knew it could be opened, but you just proved me wrong, eh? Almost as if. . . “

Atsumu shifts. “As if. . .?”

Motoya snaps out of whatever daze he was in and waves a hand at Atsumu dismissively. “Ah, never you mind. Leave an old soul to his nonsensical ramblings. Where were we?”

If the man notices Atsumu’s inner turmoil, he makes no mention of it as he points to the rundown temple behind them in the distance. “See that temple over there? It’s been in ruins ever since the kingdom fell a hundred years ago, but it used to be a site of many a sacred ceremony.”

Atsumu frowns. A hundred years ago?

Motoya turns back and pins Atsumu under a shrewd gaze, as if he could read Atsumu’s thoughts. “Hmm, you don’t seem familiar. I’m not surprised, as young as you are, but. . .” The words _it’s still strange_ go unspoken between the two of them.

Atsumu looks down and finishes his third apple. They stay like that for a while, a tentative companionship born out of random chatter (Motoya) and awkward silence (Atsumu), until Motoya claps his hands together.

“Well!” he exclaims cheerily. “I won’t be keeping you. I’m sure you want to explore the area. If you need me, I’ll find you.”

Atsumu blinks. “Wait, what?”

“Don’t worry about it!”

He’s still confused, but upon more thought actually finds himself itching to explore the Great Plateau. Atsumu looks at the far-off cliffsides. _And probably beyond that_ , he thinks. He’d have to leave this place eventually, after all, but the very thought is still hard for him to wrap his mind around.

Baby steps, Atsumu. Baby steps.

Atsumu sighs and laments Sakusa’s silence once again. He stands up and looks at Motoya unsurely, who beams back right at him. “Um, thanks. For the information and the food –“

“Ah!” Motoya snaps his fingers before Atsumu can continue. He reaches back and brandishes his woodcutter’s axe. “Do you want to take this with you? Take this with you. The wildlife around here startle easily.” He makes a flippant so-so gesture. “Boars and the like, you know?”

No, Atsumu does _not_ know, but he regards the empty, idyllic wildlife behind them and declines the offer. Motoya tilts his head. “You sure? Don’t think I didn’t see you eyeing it a while ago.”

“Yeah. Pretty sure I won’t need it.” Atsumu flushes and waves his hand stubbornly. “’Mnot even sure how to use an axe,” he mumbles to himself.

Motoya shakes the weapon in his grip. “Last cha~ance,” he sings.

Atsumu regards it skeptically. “It’s fine, really! I can, uh, sneak ‘round some of the. . . boars. Thanks for the concern, though.”

The axe is withdrawn faster than he expected. “Well, if you’re so sure about it,” Motoya concedes with a slightly mischievous gleam in his eye. “Go on then! Shoo, do some exploring! Live your youth!” He then continues tending to the campfire, humming as if Atsumu had never arrived in the first place. 

The thought of exploring excites him a little bit, Atsumu realizes, as he turns and begins his descent down the slope. He surveys the roving, ruin-dotted landscape before him and breathes.

(It’s a welcome kind of freedom; discovery for the sake of discovery, away from the jigsaw puzzle nightmare that is his missing identity.)

Atsumu leaves none the wiser.

-

He should have taken that axe – he _absolutely_ should have taken that axe. Atsumu is fucked.

It’s been good so far, Atsumu despairs. After leaving Motoya, he’s been simply wandering around, idly taking note of the wildlife around him. It wasn’t until he poked his head through a few shrubs that he was ambushed.

Atsumu blinks. “Ah. . . You’re not. . . a boar. . .”

The ugly red _creature_ (?) screeches angrily and swings its crudely shaped club at him. It’s almost as large as himself, if not larger, clothed in only a loincloth and bearing a startling resemblance to a humanoid pig – if a humanoid pig had large floppy bat ears and a single horn on top of its bare head.

Atsumu manages to dodge the blow until the two are in yet another faceoff. Is this what Motoya meant about _wildlife?_ This, Atsumu thinks darkly with a twinge of panic, is most decidedly _not_ a wild boar.

The monster gives another screech and rushes at Atsumu once more, and he barely jumps out of range. He’s too far away to run back to Motoya for that stupid axe, and he doesn’t trust his stamina to sprint the trip anyway.

Atsumu looks around frantically. If only he had something to at least _smack_ it with. . .! “Sakusa!” he yells. “Oi, Sakusa! A little help, maybe?!”

To his chagrin, only the barest feeling of a sardonic _“Good luck”_ comes as a reply.

Atsumu hears a crack and looks down to see that he’s stepped on a fallen branch. Realization dawns on him then, and he grits his teeth. Wasting no time, he grabs the branch and holds it out in front of him – stance shifting according to muscle memory he never knew he had.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,“ he mutters. “Come at me!”

The monster jumps and swings its club down, and Atsumu manages to parry it back with a strong blow. His makeshift weapon creaks dangerously in his hand, but thankfully does not snap. Enraged, the monster attempts to swing once more, but Atsumu rushes forward and strikes wildly. It cries out, stunned, but –

Atsumu curses as his branch splinters into useless pieces. “Oh, come on!” That was only two hits! He hears what suspiciously sounds like soft snickering, before a blow to his stomach comes out of nowhere and detracts him from his thoughts.

Atsumu groans, having fallen painfully on his side with his ribs throbbing more from shock rather than pain. The monster squeals triumphantly above him, and he scowls. So much for muscle memory.

Rapidly blinking the stars from his eyes, Atsumu spies another branch, conveniently within reach in front of him. He grabs it and pushes himself up on his feet, snapping of the end in a sharp fracture. “Round two, buddy,” he bites out. “Say g’bye to yer nasty mug!”

Both the monster and Sakusa snort in tandem in the face of his bravado. Atsumu feels incredibly peeved.

With a loud yell, he tackles the monster. It manages to hit strike him on the head, but he pushes forward and plunges the sharp end of the branch right into its chest with surprising ferocity. He braces himself for blood to come gushing out of the fatal injury, but to his shock the monster just screams and dissipates into purplish-black smoke, the smell acrid and nauseating.

Atsumu falls forward as the weight disappears underneath him. The only evidence it ever existed in the first place was the cracked horn left behind. He gathers his wits before shakily standing up, breathing hard.

The heck was that?!

He is _so_ going to have a talk with Motoya as soon as he sees him again. And speaking of talks. . .

_“You okay?”_

Atsumu tries hard not to roll his eyes. He really does. “Hey,” he greets out loud, still trying to catch his breath. “Why are ya only talking now? Could’ve used your guidance back there.”

_“You didn’t seem to need it hotshot,”_ replies Sakusa lightly, the strongest he’s ever spoken ever since he left the shrine. Is he smirking? Can disembodied voices smirk? He’s definitely smirking. Atsumu huffs.

“Easy for you to say,” he grumbles. “You don’t need to worry about a monster braining ya alive!”

_“It’s called a bokoblin.”_

“A what-lin?”

_“Bo-ko-blin,”_ Sakusa enunciates slowly, as if he was speaking to a toddler. Atsumu gives the sky a withering look. _“It attacks almost anything in sight and thrives off of malice,”_ he says more softly.

Atsumu stares at the cracked bokoblins horn glinting innocently a foot away from him. He toes it. “But I killed it easily enough, right?”

Sakusa scoffs. _“Don’t be a cocky idiot. Red and blue bokoblins are much weaker than black and white ones. There are also other monsters, more dangerous than the last.”_

“Like what?”

Sakusa’s voice withdraws and becomes more subdued. _“Motoya can tell you more.”_

Atsumu scowls and slices at the air with a few practice swings. “Before you leave again, I just want to say that Motoya didn’t tell me _nothing_ ,” he complains, to Sakusa’s apparent amusement if the small chuckles reverberating in his mind are to his interpretation.

_“He hasn’t messed with anyone in years. Give him this.”_

Atsumu pauses. “Yeah, about that,” he interrupts, looking up curiously. “How’d you know him?”

He can feel somehow, rather than hear, Sakusa’s minute hesitation. _“I just do. He’s very important to me.”_

Atsumu snorts derisively and ignores the slight sting he feels at those words, because he doesn’t know what to do with it. He points his branch skyward. “Yeah, no. You to know _something_ about all of this!”

_“I – “_

“Are you ever going to tell me?” Atsumu cuts him off irately. When Sakusa replies no longer, he slumps in defeat and begins making his way to the ruins he spotted earlier in the distance.

“S’not fair,” he mumbles. “I can’t really get mad at you when you aren’t there to take it.”

(Loneliness, he’s beginning to learn, is a tiring feeling.)

-

Exploring isn’t so bad, Atsumu thinks, as he inspects the crude treasure chest in front of him. Ambushing bokoblins camps is great fun for practicing his swinging – er, swordsmanship.

He finally finds the chest’s latch, and with a small _click_ , opens it up to reveal a set of trousers, miraculously kept safe from the elements. Atsumu holds them up and grins, delighted at the length and soft material.

He’s learned not to question the appearances of these random treasure chests anymore, after finding several of them scattered around the Great Plateau. And with _much_ better fitting pants now, he can’t really find it in himself to complain.

The Sheikah Slate beeps as he changes, and small text appears briefly on its screen: _Hylian Trousers acquired._ Atsumu watches as his old pair of ill-fitting trousers dissolves into blue particles that enter the slate. He’s discovered this particular feature a while ago, after his growing collection of wooden branches disappeared in favour of a newly acquired bokoblins club, yet it’s still amazing to watch.

Apparently, the slate can store almost anything, from monster parts to food (food!). There seems to be a limit to how many weapons he can store, however. . .

Eh, he’ll get around to it.

The slate beeps insistently all of a sudden, loud and high-pitched. When Atsumu takes a look, he finds a pulsing spot highlighted on his still very Blank map.

Very helpful, he thinks wryly.

_“Go there,”_ Sakusa says. _“It’s time to move on.”_

Atsumu frowns at the faded tone. “Sakusa?” he calls out. “You okay?”

The voice huffs, and if Atsumu didn’t know any better (he. . . really didn’t, actually), he would say it sounds fond. _“I’m fine, but hurry. I’m running out of time.”_

A small prick of guilt worms its way into Atsumu’s chest, but he makes no mention of it. He leaves the ruins posthaste, Sheikah Slate in hand.

-

( _“You have been asleep for the past 100 years, Atsumu.”)_

_-_

He stares at the castle in the distance, shrouded in the same dark malice that clings to all the bokoblins he’s felled, wondering if he did hit his head a bit too hard after all when he activated the Sheikah Tower.

_“The beast,”_ Sakusa snarls, barely a whisper in Atsumu’s mind but laced with so much venomous agitation. _“When the beast regains its true power, this world will face its end.”_

The calamitous shade that erupts from the castle is horrifyingly _gigantic_. He can’t even laugh at the fact that it looks like a pig. A terrible, terrible pig. It circles around the castle spires and lets off such an ear-splitting _screech_ , before a beacon of blinding light erupts from the castle’s sanctum and forces it to dissipate. Atsumu then watches as the light dims as fast as it appeared, soon becoming enshrouded in malice.

Some things begin to _click_ , and he falls to his knees.

_“I can’t hold it forever, my knight. I’m sorry.”_

_Oh_ , he thinks idly. _I’m a knight?_

_“Hurry, before it’s too late.”_

Atsumu feels powerless as the last of Sakusa’s presence fades away from his mind.

-

Motoya finds him on top of the tower, hugging his knees with his back to the pedestal. Hyrule castle stands ominous in front of them.

“Are you okay – “ he begins, but cuts himself off when Atsumu turns blazing eyes on him.

_“Don’t_ ,” Atsumu thunders hoarsely. “Don’t you _dare_ finish that sentence.”

Motoya only regards him with a tired resignation that doesn’t quite suit his youthful face. “Sakusa must have told you, then,” he says. It wasn’t even a question.

Atsumu isn’t surprised anymore, but he still glares at him with as much force as he can muster. “You _knew_ ,” he hisses. “You _knew_ , but chose not to tell me.”

The other man frowns and sits down a good distance away from Atsumu. Atsumu watches him warily. “Look, ‘Tsumu, there was good reason not to –“

“Shaddup!” Atsumu explodes. Motoya stares at him in surprise, but at the moment Atsumu really, _really_ doesn’t care. He puts his hands over his ears and shuts his eyes close in a vain effort to block everything out.

“This is too much! What good reason is there to wait until the last minute to dump everything on me? Ya didn’t even give it to me in pieces!” he yells, trying to gain control of his frustrated breathing. “Ya ain’t even giving me no time to think!”

“Atsumu –“

“No!” Atsumu rears back from Motoya’s outstretched hand. “I just woke up in this real horrible cave –“

“Shrine, actually.”

Atsumu glares at Motoya, who at least has the decency to look sheepish at his immediate correction. _“Cave,”_ he grits out spitefully. “I woke up knowing _nothing_ – no age, no clothes, no, no _purpose_ – heck I didn’t even know my own name ‘til Sakusa told me!”

“. . .We did not think it wise to overwhelm you while your memory was still fragile.” Motoya says sorrowfully.

Atsumu deflates, anger warring with fatigue, and wraps his arms around his knees once more. “Well, here I am overwhelmed anyway,” he says bitterly.”

Motoya quirks a smile, and edges closer to him. “To be fair, Sakusa wasn’t always the best at reading people and gauging their mood,” he says a touch exasperatedly. “I’m sorry you have to feel this way.”

“I don’t even know who he really is. Said I was ‘sposed to be the light of this kingdom, or something. Then he goes and tells me that I was sleeping for, for a _hundred years!_ ” Atsumu whispers hysterically.

When he feels a hand on his shoulder, he doesn’t find it in himself to shrug it off, this time. Motoya smiles at him sadly.

“You’re _still_ the light of this kingdom, as cheesy as that sounds,” he says softly. “And I know my cousin well enough to believe he knew what he was doing when he had you taken to the Shrine of Resurrection.”

Atsumu wants to scream, but he holds his tongue. Instead, he sighs and knocks his head back on the pedestal. “I don’t know what to do,” he whispers tiredly. “I don’t know who I am.”

Motoya hums. “Nobody really does, when they start out on their journey,” he offers.

Atsumu scowls. “Funny, with everything that’s happened so far, we both know I’m apparently not just some “nobody”.”

“Even the greatest of legends started out as nobodies, my friend.”

-

“-have to go, now that you’re feeling somewhat better. But before you can do that – “

Atsumu’s head spins at the rate at which Motoya continues to chatter.

“-off the Great Plateau. Lucky for you, though, I have _just_ the thing! Here, see, isn’t she a _beauty_ –“

He’s feeling (slightly) better, but that doesn’t mean he can suddenly understand everything this man is saying!

“-shrines. If you open up your Sheikah Slate – “

“Wait, wait, wait!” Atsumu hastily interjects before Motoya can go on another tangent. The man in question merely blinks at him. “We _just_ had a talk about how I know nothing. _Nothing!”_

Motoya raises a finger, before frowning and letting it fall back down. “Ah, right.”

Atsumu sighs as aggravatedly as he can, hoping his companion would get the point. Motoya does and rubs the back of his head in slight embarrassment.

“Sorry, I got excited,” he says bashfully. “Forget what I was just saying. You probably weren’t listening anyways.”

Atsumu kicks at him, and Motoya laughs. “I know, I know, it’s not your fault,” he assures. “Tell you what, I’ll come with you to the shrines and help you figure ‘em out, what do you say? Or, hm, more like _supervise_ – I can’t be with you forever, after all – but I’m sure you’ll do great! I’ll teach you how to paraglide right after.”

Atsumu raises a hand in argument but pauses. “That. . . actually doesn’t sound _so_ bad,” he admits, and Motoya beams at him smugly. “Don’t think I don’t know yer avoiding the rest of my questions,” he accuses.

Motoya waves a hand in flippant dismissal. “We’ll get to that soon, don’t worry. I promise I’ll be gentle,” he teases.

“Damn _straight_ ya will,” Atsumu grumbles. “I still don’t know how completing those shrines are gonna help me with all,” he waves around vaguely. “This.”

Motoya hums. “You know,” he comments idly, avoiding Atsumu’s pointed remark like the cheeky bastard he is. “I’m surprised it took you this long for your accent to break out. Should have figured though, if what Kuroo said was true. I kinda miss it!”

“Ha?” Atsumu’s hand flies to his throat. “Accent? What accent?

Motoya laughs. “Never you mind this old soul’s nonsensical ramblings,” he says cheerily, before turning around and walking to the edge of the Sheikah Tower. “Now, come on, let’s get started! I’ll wait for you at the first one, the one we marked on your Slate earlier.”

Atsumu hastily follows him. “Don’t ‘never you mind’ me, you!” he says irately, well aware of his decision to fixate on this supposed accent rather than his apparent destiny. “What are ya talking about? Who’s Kuroo?”

Motoya jumps off the tower, snapping his paraglide open before Atsumu could catch him. “Just keep being you, Atsumu!” he yells back as he glides down smoothly.

“I literally _just_ _toldja_ , I don’t know who I am!”

-

(When Atsumu eventually gathers all four of the Sheikah runes, he realizes he forgot to ask what Motoya meant about ‘cousin’. He finds out days later, on the ruined rooftop of an ancient temple.

A 10,000-year-old prophecy. A prince with a sacred power, and his appointed knight chosen by the sword that seals the darkness. The Divine Beasts and their Champions, and how they failed to prevent the fall of the kingdom of Hyrule.

“Forgive me,” Motoya asks. “I was only king for three days.”

Despite all that has been revealed, Atsumu doesn’t hesitate in doing so. “I’m sorry.”

“Nah, don’t be! The previous king was a terrible father, but he was a great commander. Most of everything – military, strategy – held on when I had to take over.”

“. . . Sakusa’s been fighting alone for a hundred years.”

A sad hum. “He has.”

“I really have to go?”

“Do you want to?”

A steady exhale. “I do.”

“Then go.”)

-

When Atsumu jumps off of the Great Plateau at dawn, only a week and a half after waking up, he spares one last glance at the Great Plateau. The spirit of the last leader of Hyrule watches him leave, a sad smile etched permanently on his face, before he vanishes.

Atsumu sets off for Kakariko Village with a heavy heart and a young king’s diary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I still have feelings.


End file.
